Uszka
Around you
these clouds have meat
suspended in blood red skies
sunset spooled
to rolling boil
of fermented firmament cooled
catches the back of my throat
with suspended heat
of sorrow
where these words
of unspoken passion
settle waiting on the marrow of morrow
settle thick and sticky sweet
and taste somehow of home
these clouds have meat
condensed
soaked heavy with memory
with diluted blood
crying distilled
in which they sail the sky
dreaming of full lips to call their own
and a wistful tear
raindrop clear
on a cheek bone
high
Rick Dove (c) 2016
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